


The Tension and the Spark

by orphan_account



Category: JONAS RPF, Jonas Brothers
Genre: Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-10
Updated: 2010-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-13 14:44:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Commentfic for mediaville; basically unrepentant not-quite fingering porn. ENJOY.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tension and the Spark

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, incest, caveat lector, etc. Unbeta'd, feel free to harass me about errors. And yes, Darren Hayes supplied me with my title.

When Nick slips his hand down the back of Joe's jeans, the fabric too snug around his knuckles, Joe's breath catches in his throat and he stutters out a groan. He's usually pretty quiet, little noises muffled by Nick's mouth, always afraid someone's going to catch them, so the unexpected loudness takes Nick by surprise. His hand stills.

Joe pulls away from Nick's mouth and puts his face between the juncture of neck and shoulder, hot breath puffing ticklishly under Nick's ear. He curiously squeezes, blunt nails digging into the thick material of Joe's underwear. Joe makes another noise, clearly trying to hold himself in check, and his face feels so hot against Nick's skin.

Joe's ass is _firm_ , but there's give there too, this supple press back into his palms that makes him want to grab handfuls and knead. So he does. And Joe's next noise is louder than the first.

Nick's mouth feels dry even though he's been kissing for ten minutes, and there are words trapped in his throat. They don't talk. He wants to ask if Joe likes it, ask how _much_ he likes it, but instead all he can do is spread his palm over Joe's ass and awkwardly use his other hand to work his belt open. There's barely enough room to flex his hand inside the trap of Joe's jeans, and it's much better once Nick's got them undone.

Joe's hips are working in hesitant circles, canted off to the side of Nick's. It's a little uncomfortable, but Nick barely notices the bite of his belt and zipper since Joe's acting like this, since the heat of his skin and the friction of the material over it feels like it's rubbing his hand raw.

It's weird. They try not to do it; they can go a while, easily, but Joe will pass Nick in a doorway and they'll be standing too close and it's over. Later Nick's in the dark with Joe on him, or him on top of Joe, grinding through layers of pajama pants. In the morning it's like it didn't happen, like Joe didn't sigh into Nick's mouth when it was over and go back to his room, making Nick and everybody breakfast in his kitchen. They never talk about it. It's pretty – it's screwed up, and Nick doesn't let himself think about it unless he needs something to get off to quick, and he figures if they both ignore it and stay quiet and don't touch skin beyond slipping their hands up each other's shirts it can be like there's lines still between them.

They're both run ragged and dumbfounded that the tour is over, and everything about the hotel room seemed bizarre to Nick, this stop-over with generic furnishings. It's not home, but Nick's so used to it it might as well be, and that is something Nick doesn't want to be okay with. And there was Joe, staying up until two-thirty in the morning, tapping rhythms on his thighs, channel surfing, as wound up as Nick was. He didn't even change into his pajamas, even though it was the first thing Nick did after he got to the room, not counting his shower.

And now there's this. Joe's moaning like Nick's never heard and Nick's so hard, the front of his sleep pants spreading wetness, this touching brand new, terrifying. His heartbeat almost hurts in his chest, like he's been running hard.

"Shit," Joe whispers, harsh, and Nick nearly startles. His hand freezes again, and Joe's hips shove harder, dick a thick, obvious line pressed against Nick.

"You –" Nick's painfully self-conscious, but Joe's losing control bit by bit, and it's – he doesn't even know. "You like that?" His voice breaks embarrassingly, Nick trying too hard to force it out of himself.

" _Nick_ ," Joe breathes, and Nick's got to do something, has to find out how much he can get out of Joe, see what he can do to him.

His finger slides along the crease of his ass, feeling his underwear go taut there. He's thought about it before, but never like this. Always fleeting and vague and weirded out. He doesn't think about doing it to girls.

Joe moans something else out against his neck, and his left arm comes up to rest along his side, hand curled into a fist. He's rubbing up against Nick faster, and Nick's got to do more, but he doesn't know what exactly that would be. Testingly, he pushes kind of in, pushing the underwear in Joe a little too, and the squeeze of it just along the edges of his finger makes him dizzy.

"Nick," Joe says again, voice sounding high like he's freaked out. He knows from the way Joe's hips are shoving fast and unsteady that he's close, and Nick's not even rubbing back against him, which is what they usually do.

His finger pushes down even more, and it'd be so much easier without Joe's underwear in the way, but the thought makes Nick balk. He's so deep he can feel Joe's – hole, and his stomach clenches in terror and a pang of arousal and a distant distaste. His finger is _in there_ , where it really shouldn't be, and Joe's warm and almost pulling around his finger, squeezing so tight Nick would have to wriggle it out.

"Crap," Joe says, and Nick gets this huge urge to laugh, because really? _Crap_? Only Joe sounded like he couldn't help it, urgency and still that panic in his voice rising, and Nick's going to flip Joe over and fuck his dick right up against his stomach once Joe's come.

There's almost _no_ give when Nick presses his finger against Joe, right there where he could slip inside of him. Joe bucks when he does it, so he does it again, over and over, and Joe's making these strange _hunnnh_ noises, shaking his head so his hair's bristling against Nick's chin and the side of his face.

"You're gonna," Nick says wonderingly, and Joe whines and humps against him so hard the mattress thumps.

Joe's, like, constricting around his finger, tense muscle jerks that make Nick's mouth drop open. He can _feel_ him coming, more than the warm wet that's seeping between them.

Joe's panting, and he's dead weight as Nick shoves him off and puts him on his back, hands dazedly coming up to Nick's shoulders. It's dark in the room, but Nick can see the glitter of his eyes and how they're fixed on Nick's face, Joe's slick mouth, and Nick takes it, fucking his tongue in as his hips work harder and harder. Joe just lets him, pulling Nick down even closer.

It's hard and fast and Nick thinks about the fact that Joe's come is all up in his underwear, slippery all over his dick and maybe the very tops of his thighs. It must be borderline painful for that much weight to be on him, too tender, but Joe isn't wincing in the slightest.

"Nick," Joe sighs, the word nearly unrecognizable with Nick's tongue slicking over his bottom lip, so wet.

Nick gasps in a huge breath, one two three hard shoves until he's spurting, dick so full and sensitive, and he hopes Joe can feel it. It seems to last longer than usual, Nick having to close his eyes against the total sensory overload.

He sags against Joe, face tucked where Joe's was against his earlier, and he knows he's going to start processing what this means way too soon, that it's going to make him a little sick, but Joe's fingers are sliding up to his hair and gently carding through it, pulling at his curls. He keeps his eyes shut, squinching them tight, and he can feel the kiss Joe presses at the top of his head.

\--

END


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